


Persephone, or the Terrible Necessity

by dirty_thunderstorm



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Mentions of canon typical violence, Murder Husbands, Pomegranates, set during season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_thunderstorm/pseuds/dirty_thunderstorm
Summary: Hannibal nods, pleased. «In Christian tradition, the pomegranate is considered a symbol of Jesus’ suffering and rebirth.»«Feeling biblical?» I take a sip of wine. «Why not serve apples, then.»«There would be no need.» His voice is so low, barely a whisper. «You’ve bitten into that apple already.»
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Persephone, or the Terrible Necessity

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I actually wrote a Hannibal fanfic, I haven’t written a fanfic in centuries but after discovering Hannibal thanks to the amazing [Fieropasto](https://fieropasto.tumblr.com) I figured out I owed them a token of my gratitude. I can’t draw, so a fic it is! This was born after thinking “you know what this show needs? more pomegranates and pomegranate-related metaphors”.
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy it ❤️! 
> 
> (p.s. english isn’t my first language and I didn’t have a beta reader, so there might be some mistakes)

JACK CRAWFORD’S OFFICE

«Will, how am I going to explain this?» Jack scatters the photographs on his desk. Randall Tier's head, with long fangs protruding obscenely, like the animal he always wanted to be.

I shrug. «I had to.»

Jack raises his eyebrows. «You had to?»

«He attacked me in the middle of the night, in my own house. It was either me or him, Jack.»

«Look,» He takes a deep breath. «That I can call self-defense. But what do you call this?» He points at one picture. Randall Tier mounted on the pedestal, his head blended with the fangs of a bear.

The shining of a knife. Hannibal’s presence. There's no music, and yet a symphony accompanies us, a symphony of movements in the dim light. He holds the knowledge of anatomy, I hold the knife.

«Will?» whispers Jack, awakening me from my memories.

«Oh, he'd call it aesthetic.» I shake my head.

«And what do you call it?» Jack points his finger at me.

Honor. «A terrible necessity?» I was honoring him, Jack. If you don't, it's murder.

«And did he play a part in this?»

«Just with his words, as he always does.»

Hannibal’s soft voice guides me as I assemble Randall, and all around me there's the scent of blood and sweat and a faint, very faint scent of cleanliness, coming from Hannibal's clothes when our bodies get closer. Its' a precise dance of knife and blood stained hands, a dance more inebriating than any wine. He never touches anything except my wrists, and we’re both wearing gloves, and yet it’s a maddening touch.

Jack leans back in his chair. «I just wonder, how many more terrible necessities will come before we have something that we can use against him?»

«I don't know!» I take my head in my hands. All I know is that I feel no regret, and I do not dare to think about it too much.

«Look, Will, I'm sorry.»

Relief washes all over me. He doesn't understand. Let him think I hated every minute of it, it's much safer. I don't want to go back to that cell.

«This must be hard for you, hiding your true self, pretending to be someone you're not.»

I nod. Truer than you think, Jack.

«Do you want to talk to... someone? Alana, maybe?»

«No.» I shake my head. I need to talk to someone, yes, but to someone who understands. Alana would never understand this. And I hope she never does.

I get up. «I have to go.»

Jack sighs. «Will, be careful.»

I nod and leave.

LATER, HANNIBAL’S HOUSE

«And now, the dessert.» Hannibal lays a crystal cup in front of me. White ice cream balls covered in a red berry sauce, flowing from a single slice of pomegranate on the top. The sauce flows in rivulets on the snow, the single pomegranate seeds scattered on the ice cream like drops of blood. Like shining rubies.

«Ice cream in winter, that’s a peculiar choice.» I whisper. 

He pours me wine in the glass. A different wine, pale yellow and sweet scented.

«The sauce is poured hot to create a peculiar contrast.» He sits at his place, facing a cup identical to mine. 

I bury my spoon in the ice cream, collecting a few drops of sauce from the bottom of the cup, and a single pomegranate seed. The sauce is still warm, and it pairs perfectly with the vanilla ice cream. 

«It’s really good.»

He nods, pleased. «In Christian tradition, the pomegranate is considered a symbol of Jesus’ suffering and rebirth.»

«Feeling biblical?» I take a sip of wine. «Why not serve apples, then.»

«There would be no need.» His voice is so low, barely a whisper. «You’ve bitten into that apple already.»

The pomegranate seeds shine in the candlelight. I have, yes. I have killed Garret Jacob Hobbs a lifetime ago, after all. The seeds crunch beneath my teeth, a drop of sauce flows on my chin. He stares at me as he ever does, intently, with a gaze that betrays something behind the mere curiosity. Look at me, Hannibal. I want you to look at me.

I wipe my chin with the napkin.

«The composition certainly reminds me of blood.» I bury the spoon in the ice cream, fishing for the sauce and the pomegranate seeds. «It reminds me of Randall Tier’s victims.» I shake my head. «It reminds me of how much I enjoyed killing him.»

«How does that make you feel?» He drinks his wine.

«It felt… liberating. But now, I don’t really feel anything. He’s gone.» I shrug. «I just didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.» 

I do not dare to look at him now. Play your part, Will, play your part. If I were honest, if I told him everything, hell, if I told anyone everything they would send me back to the mental hospital. What would Jack say, if I told him how much I enjoyed killing Randall Tier? He believes me, he believes my story about the terrible necessity. Imagine if I told anyone that the reason why I’m always tense before coming here is because I enjoy these evenings far more than I’m supposed to. I enjoy him more than I’m supposed to.

«You seem lost in thought.»

«I am.» I take a sip of wine. «I was thinking about how I am currently walking between two worlds. Jack trusts me, and so do you.»

«Many famous heroes in myth have been caught like this. Between two worlds. They could trespass thresholds that would have stopped many others.»

«I’m not a hero.» I shake my head, and he smiles.

«You’re more than that.» he lifts his spoon to reveal three single pomegranate seeds. «Do you know the myth of Persephone?»

«She was kidnapped by Hades and became queen of the underworld, yes.»

«There’s more than that, to the myth. Come, I want to show you something.» He gets up and fixes his shirt. I take a deep breath and follow him.

Apart from the fireplace and two small lamps, his study is clouded in darkness. And yet I know where to go. I know where to avoid the glass table, I know where the edge of his desk is. I know his kingdom almost like my own house.

«Here.»

On a small table next to the fireplace lay a few of his drawings. He lifts one up to show me, the warm light of the fire giving beautiful hues to the paper. 

That’s me. He has drawn me. I’m wearing what looks like a draped shirt of some sort, and I’m looking at the lower left of the paper, focused on something I cannot see, eyebrows slightly arched. In my hand, a single pomegranate. The composition seems familiar, but I don’t recall where I’ve seen it before.

«Beautiful.» I whisper. Oh, Hannibal, in what kind of net have you ensnared me? But no, this is my own doing. I chose to be here, with a killer. And am I not a killer, too?

«Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a british painter, made eight versions of his Persephone.» A smile appears on his face. «My favorite one has to be the one kept at the Tate Britain. Have you ever visited London?»

I shake my head. «Perhaps, one day.»

«Perhaps, yes.» He nods. «You know, in some variations of the myth of Persephone, she chooses to eat six pomegranate seeds to stay in the Underworld with Hades.»

A fire lights up in my chest. I’m sorry, Jack, I do not have a murder confession for you, but I might get a love confession instead. 

«Am I like Persephone to you?» My heartbeat feels so loud, I feel as if Hannibal can hear it, as if anyone the radius of several miles can hear it. 

«You are trapped between two worlds, as you said. She spent six months above the ground, and it was spring. Six months in the Underworld, and so came the cold and winter.»

Winter. «Well, sure it is winter now.» I can only manage a nervous laughter. The fire gives a beautiful shape to the features of his face, like a painting. 

The paper crinkles as I place the drawing back on the table.

He pulls me closer, his hand behind my neck. A killer has a hand on my neck, and I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid at all. This is almost exhilarating. His fingers trail on the lower part of my hair, sending a pleasing shiver down my spine. I could melt in his hands. I’m sorry, Jack, if I repress who I am any longer, I’ll go mad for real this time. This is my own terrible necessity.

I hold him closer, my hands on his back. He kisses me, and flowers bloom inside my chest, a symphony of yellow and red and purple, a thousand petals that light up the darkness like a volcano of colors. His lips taste of wine and vanilla and berries and blood and everything I’ve ever wanted to taste. I run my fingers through his hair, I want to see him disheveled, I want him for me.

I want to look at him. We interrupt the kiss, and regain our breath. I’ve never seen him smile like this before, not just satisfied or pleased or curious, but happy, relieved. 

«How does it feel?» he whispers.

«Like breaking chains.» It’s nice not having to lie.

In front of the fireplace our shadows grow into the shape of dark, antlered men, and their antlers intertwine. It’s impossible to say where my antlers start, or his own.

«Oh, Will...» He bites my earlobe, my neck. «Abigail will be so happy to know it.»


End file.
